


A Topsy-Turvy Day

by fleurlb



Category: The Americans (TV 2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-31 15:39:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15122549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurlb/pseuds/fleurlb
Summary: Paige doesn't have a plan. All she has is a phone number and a bottle of vodka.





	A Topsy-Turvy Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maidenjedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/gifts).



The vodka burns, which is good. All Paige has felt since her parents arrived at her place, insisting that she had to leave with them, is numb. A scary detachment while her world skittered sideways and everything she knew collapsed and burned. She'd known. She'd known from the minute they talked their way past Stan that she couldn't abandon Henry. That even if she'd lost her way at some point, she couldn't lose him. 

She takes three shots, just enough to feel mildly reckless, not enough to make her tongue thick and her words slurry. She picks up the old phone in the safehouse and dials the number that her mother taught her a few months ago.

“Anderson Pest Control. How may I help you?” The woman's voice is friendly with a note of caution. Paige tries to picture her face, wonders where she is and how many of them there are. 

“Yes....um. I have a roach problem. In the back bedroom.”

“Unfortunately, we have no specialists available at this time. Would next week be okay?”

“Sooner would be better.”

“Understood. Can I get your name, address, and phone number?”

Paige recites the decoy information that her mother also taught her. Then she sits down at the table to wait. She spins the icy bottle in her hands as the minutes tick by. She wonders how long she's supposed to wait. She wonders what she's supposed to do. She wonders how this could possibly be her life. She should be in her room, fretting over a history paper while being sad that some stupid boy hasn't called her. 

It feels like she's been waiting for hours, but when the phone rings, it's only ten minutes later. The shrill noise startles her, and she rushes to pick it up quickly, like it's an alarm that will give her position away. 

She picks up the phone, opens her mouth to say hello, but nothing comes out.

“So you couldn't get with the program?” Claudia's voice is nettled and teasing. It's a tone that Paige has never heard before, and it makes her want to defend herself. Instead, she takes a deep breath and lets it out as a long sigh. 

“You want to know what happens next? What you should do? The first thing is not stay on the phone for very long, so if you want something from me, you better ask.”

“I just don't know...what can I do?”

“You want to stay. But the Center has no use for you. Sorry to say, Paige, but your mother burned you and you refused her life boat, so you're in a bit of a pickle.”

“I just want things to go back to how they were. I just want to be normal.”

“Just another American?” Claudia's laugh is brittle and sharp enough to cut glass. “Maybe go and throw yourself on the mercy of the FBI man. You never know, they might try to save face, make it looks like your parents were involved in embezzlement or some other genteel white collar crime.”

“Is that what you and the Center would do, if the positions were reversed?”

“No dear. I'd blow your family's brains out in the middle of Red Square, but tomayto tomahto, as they say.” 

The dial tone buzzes in Paige's ear before she can respond. She hangs up the phone in slow motion. She goes to the sink and burns the fake passport and other papers that her parents gave her. She considers burning the whole place down, but that feels like an unnecessary tantrum for no real gain. It's not like Claudia will ever come back here. 

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

When Paige arrives at her street, she can see a single unmarked car sitting in front of the house and yellow crime scene tape fluttering by the doors. The lights are all out and the house reminds her of a body. She shivers and looks at Stan's house, where the Christmas lights seem to mock her and Renee's jeep is the only car in the driveway.

Paige goes around the back of the house and knocks on the sliding patio door. She watches Renee approach, cautious until she recognizes Paige. She rushes over, fumbles off the lock, slides open the door, and wraps Paige in a hug.

Her father's parting words to Stan ring in her ears, and she flips through all the pass phrases and code words that her mother's taught her the last few months. She settles on the one that is most relevant and takes a deep breath as she pulls back from the hug.

“It's sure been a topsy-turvy day.” She bites her lip and looks down, waiting and hoping for Renee to tell her that she was sorry to hear that. A few simple words, but they would be a lifeline, a sign that Paige isn't suddenly alone in the world. 

A small laugh escapes Renee, like the bark of a seal, and Paige looks up to find Renee blushing and covering her mouth, her eyes radiating pure sympathy. 

“That's an understatement, kiddo. Come on in from the cold and let's get a warm drink into you. Hot chocolate or Irish coffee?”

The vodka is just about wearing off and Paige would love some whisky, but she knows she has to keep her wits about her now. So she smiles and asks for hot chocolate, please, feeling like a seven year-old who is at the neighbor's house after school because of a scheduling mix up. 

They sit at the table where she's sat so many times before, this house nearly as familiar to her as her own house. Her heart has a small scratch that Stan's words about Matthew caused. She really did like him, some part of her always will. 

“You must be in shock,” says Renee, reaching out and covering Paige's hand. She gives it a little squeeze. 

“I don't know what to do next.”

“Stan's going to want to talk to you. Just for the record. He'll be gentle. He knows how shocked and surprised you must be.”

Paige nods, wraps her hands around her mug and looks into it while she thinks. Stan can't reveal that she knew her parents were spies a few years ago without revealing that he let them go. 

“I'm scared.” She's surprised to hear herself say it, but not surprised to realize it's the truth. She's been scared – of being found out, of making the mistakes, of doing the wrong thing – for so long, she doesn't think she knows how to be anything else. All the self-defense that her mother taught her only gave her a false sense of security. She's actually terrified. 

“It's going to be okay, Paige. Stan and I are here for you and Henry both. No one is going to punish the son for the sins of his father, or the daughter for the sins of her mother, whatever the case may be.”

Paige looks down and thinks of her mother's denial about killing people. “I don't know. What happens when the crimes are really bad?”

“Children aren't responsible for the actions of their parents. And anyone who wants to take something out on you, when you couldn't stop them or change anything, even if you'd known, is an asshole who doesn't deserve your time or attention.” 

Paige's smile is small and grateful. She drinks the rest of her hot chocolate in silence, under the sympathetic gaze of Renee. Paige's fear subsides, replaced by sadness at all she's lost and has yet to lose. 

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

The interview with the FBI is actually a series of interviews, a few hours each, strung across several days, with a parade of men in identical suits and serious expressions. By the end, Paige has a headache of epic proportions and has begun to believe her own lies. That she's just a kid who knows nothing. She wonders how her parents managed to be multiple versions of themselves for so many years without losing their minds. Then she questions the very premise of her own question – who is she to say that they never lost their minds?

“Paige, thank you for your time. Your official involvement in our enquiry is over and you can consider yourself not under suspicion.” Special Agent Alderholt's words startle her out of her thoughts.

“I...I don't know what to say.” She looks from his grim face, with its kind eyes, to Stan Beeman's face, which is a mask of concern but his eyes are unreadable.

“You must be exhausted. I'll run you home now,” says Stan.

She follows him through the maze of the FBI building, into a parking garage, and she wonders whether he's remembering their last time meeting in a parking a garage. But she says nothing, and neither does he, and they get into the car and start the journey back to her apartment. 

Paige steals a sideways look at Stan, whose eyes are on the road but his mouth is moving at intervals, like he's trying to find the words to say something.

“What happens next?” she asks.

“The FBI will release a statement about your parents. But it will state that they're wanted for embezzlement and fraud and for questioning regarding murders. They'll go on the top ten most wanted list, and you'll see their pictures every time you go to a post office.”

But she'll never actually see them again. And neither with the FBI. Paige notices that Stan doesn't take his statement to that logical conclusion. 

“What's going to happen to Henry?”

Stan pulls the car over and put it into park. The car is under a streetlight, and Paige feels like she's in a spotlight. 

“I don't know, Paige. I hope that he'll be able to put this all behind him, but we both know how ridiculous that is.”

“Does he know the truth?”

“About your parents? Yes. About you? No. I didn't tell him. You can, if you want. It's up to you.” 

Paige sighs and looks away. The silence in the car is heavy, suffocating, like a wool blanket on a hot day. 

“I don't know what to do next.” The words come out small, sad. 

“Me neither, Paige. I can tell you all the things you can't do. You can't tell anyone. You can't take that internship you applied for in the State Department. You can't do anything that requires a security clearance. But I don't know know what you can do, what you should do.”

“I was just... I wanted... It's going to sound ridiculous, but I thought I was helping to make the world a better place.”

Stan's laugh sounds like the kind of spark that could burn down an entire forest. “We all get disillusioned by our parents, Paige. We all find out that they're not the people we thought they were, but it's not usually so dramatic. What you're going to do now is that you're going to grow up, fast. I don't know what you're going to do, but I'll be here for you and your brother, while you're trying to figure it out.”

Paige thinks of everything she's ever been told about the FBI, by her mother, by Claudia, and weighs it against everything she knows about Stan. Maybe she shouldn't trust him, but she knows that she can. And right now, she has almost nothing left to build a new life. She can't be fussy now. 

“Why don't you come spend the night at our place? Renee would love to fuss over you and in the morning, we can all talk together about what might happen next.”

Paige twists the offer in her head, pulling at every thread of it. She knows it's genuine. She knows he's just trying to help. But she also knows that she is alone in the world now, except, maybe, for Henry.

“I bet she'll make her famous Mac and Cheese.” 

“I don't see how I can say no to Mac and Cheese, but it really only can be for one night.”

“It's a deal,” says Stan as he puts the car into gear and pulls back onto the road. The evening is misty and dark, and Paige can't see more than twenty feet in front of her. She wonders how long it will be like this.


End file.
